


White

by Itachi_S_Lucius



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Movies - Raimi)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Assassin Peter, Canada, F/M, Good Peter, Hurt Steve, Hurt Tony, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Mental Abuse, Nazis, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow To Update, Superfamily, Torture, Underage Prostitution, insane peter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-04-26 17:04:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5012788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itachi_S_Lucius/pseuds/Itachi_S_Lucius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To lose oneself so completely, yet not know your broken until the last very second, that is true blindness, that is true and crippling insanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 -Canada-

WARNING: Tobey Maguire Spider-Man. Brief Mentions of Mpreg. Graphic Violence. Implied non-con.

 

United States, New York, NY -1 Year ago-

Peter really tried not to focus on just how much money his father had, really didn't. But his dad loved spoiling him, and he really couldn't not accept the gifts now could he? His Dad got him a freakin Lamborghini for his sixteenth birthday, and he really had to struggle through his built up morals not to use it to get to school. He didn't want to be known for his Dad's money. Worst off his Dad didn't seem to understand why he didn't go to any of his more extravagant shows, why he tried so hard not to be caught in the media's eye; as he leaves the house, and attempts not to be seen by any televisions broadcasting his Dad's heroics. He was ever thankful for his Pop's as he was the only man stopping Tony from exposing their son to the media. He went by Parker at school, a clever mix up of both his parents names that he devised, and S.H.I.E.L.D made him to be known by, he didn't even have to legally change his last name, not that he wanted to, he loved his name, and his parents. To his school mates he was simply "Pretty Parker" as was their nickname for him, as they found out he had two Dads. Meaning of course both he and his parents were pretty fags, who liked to dress extravagantly and loved women's clothing. Not that there was anything wrong with doing that, but his parents and him surely didn't. The other students didn't seem to get that message.

He didn't tell anyone this, in fact his only real friends are Harry, Gwen, and MJ. And even they didn't know he was richer than Will Smith. He had no plans of telling them either. It was to...Strange to even think about half of the time, Harry himself was rich, then again he wasn't as rich as Peter. But the fact was still there, and for some reason he guilt was to. Yet another thing he tried not to think about too much.

Him, Gwen and MJ, were now on break, Harry talking with one of their teachers. But there was something there something always there, that his father almost always reminded him of. Which was eventually, the media would find out about him, about his money, his family, his advantage high-school life. And that would be bad. His Pop's always tried to reassure him that it wouldn't happen, not if he didn't want to. And God! Did he want to believe the man. But his Dad was right about this, as he was with almost anything.

It shook him to the core to even think about it.

"Peter hey, you in there dude?" Peter turned his head, startled out of his thoughts by MJ's voice. He nodded, giving her and Gwen an apologetic smile. "jeez, you sure are lost in your own head today, what are you thinking about?"

"Porn?" Gwen interjected, and got a glare from the red-head in return. Gwen did little but shrug. Unbothered by the glare, or her own indigestion. Peter wasn't surprised. He stared out at the school parking lot, as a black hippy van went in and a normal grey family vehicle left. He was trying to pay attention to the girls, but he was having a hard time of it, his mind just wasn't in it. He had a bad feeling coiling in his gut. He found out why quickly, as drugs heavily loaded with guns stepped out of the viciale. Masks over their mouths and noses, goggles over their eyes. Riffles in their hands.

"Guys..." He whispered, because they weren't that far away from the dangerous gun carrying men. They had seen them as well, and all three were slowly moving to duck underneath the table, and -hopefully- crawl away. They didn't get far. A shot rang out.

Peter's face pinched before he registered the sharp pain in his right they. He slumped to the ground, and the two girls trying to get away from the men with him, stopped dead in their tracks at their fallen friend.

Peter's mind explosed with odors, chemicals rushing around to try and sooth the pain in his body. But it felt like hell, and he wanted to scream. But he managed to hold himself back, he had felt far worse than the pain he had expected from the bullet. Celiac disease was a bitch. And more painful than labor. Apparently. Peter didn't know really, because being a man he would never experience it, or maybe he would, his Pops had after all.

It was these thoughts that made him get up through the pain of being shot, and move so that he was -standing and facing the criminals face-to-face. If they wanted to kill him, they would have already. But since that wasn't the case, Peter was confident enough to realize they wanted him for something. Mary-Jane and Gwen not so much.

"What do you want?" There was now six thugs outside of the van now three of them standing over him, and the other three on the lookout for cops or at least that's what he could see, the three standing over him were several inches taller than himself.

"We want a volunteer. And you son, are perfect." The man had an old west type of accent, his breath smelled of whiskey, as he bent close to the brunette. A hand landed on his bicep, resting there and tightening. Peter didn't like the feel of that.

"Holens! We don't have time for that! Get him the truck now!" The man, Holens, grabbed him with both arms now, and flipped him over his shoulder. Peter wiggled as much as he could. That is until an large hand slapped him on the ass. He stopped all movement then. He was thrown none-to-gently onto the cold metal of the van's bottom, and had three seconds to look around, before he was pulled back by his hair. A large hand gripping his brown stands tightly, a gag was placed over his mouth, and a rope tying his hands behind his back. Peter was now only left with his sight, but Peter reasoned with himself that was more than some of the kidnapped got, so he was counting his blessings. he van lurched forward, and Peter's face nearly collided with the floor, but a hand pulling at his collar stopped that. He didn't know where he was going and it was terrifying.

Canada, Canmore, AB -Present-

He woke with no recollection of where he had been. Or what had happened before he had been unconscious. He was hungry, this he knew, and really quite cold, at least he knew the basics of sensation, he reasoned with himself. But he could only remember MJ and Gwen, and the van, and the strong smell of whiskey. He stood up, Which was alarming in itself considering his dizzy mind, but what really struck him was the people walking around a few yards away from him. They were all wearing shorts and T-shirts. He started doubting himself. Was it really that hot out? Was he not registering heat properly? He started to check himself for injuries just in case, if he wasn't getting the temperature right mentally then it was possible he was not registering the pain signals his brain was sending. But then he saw it. A ten dollar bill lying on the ground, it didn't look American, in fact it looked rather... Colorful. I was purple. Last time he checked American ten dollar bills weren't purple, or laminated, or smelling of maple syrup... And did that person pick up and give back that other man's wallet? No one was that nice in NY city, or state for that matter. Peter came to a really horrible realization. He wasn't in New York anymore, and judging from what he knew of different currencies and the county's associated with them, he was in Canada. Oh shit! He was in Canada!

Peter's mind promptly panicked, and he started hyperventilating unconsciously. He was lucky a local was hiking down the path he was on, or he might not have gotten the help he needed. The woman shook his shoulder. It seemed to snap him out of it, words his father once spoke to him running through his head ever so quickly. He looked up at the woman, or rather girl -for she looked to be around his age- she had light blond jawbone length hair framing her face which gradually grew longer as it descended down around her neck, it was wavy bordering on curly. She wore a black baseball cap, and black t shirt, modest, as if to cover her cleavage -which Peter found odd, but then he remembered he was in Canada, so maybe it wasn't- She also had on dark green cargo pants that reached a little below her knees. Then Peter noticed, she had a younger girl with her, maybe six or seven years old, long brown hair, and pink dress covered in white lily's, little toes peeking out from light brown sandals. Irrationally the first thing out of his mouth was stupid, and really not what he was looking for.

"Bears." The older girl looked confused, then scared for a moment, before she stood up straight from her bent over position from shaking his shoulder, while he sat pathetically on the ground. He stared wide eyed at her as she crossed her arms underneath her breast. A questioning, suspicious look crossing her rather lax features. She didn't seem to be afraid of bears.

"Bears don't really hang around this cemetery much. And even if they did, they wouldn't have attacked you unless provoked, so how bout telling me the truth moron." SHe nearly spat the words, but unlike a New Yorker she stayed right where she was, and it didn't look as if she was going to leave, even after the insult she just threw at him. The little brunette girl right behind her smiling at him and grabbing at the others green pant leg. Peter sputtered for a moment, before deciding to rise to his feet and look at her without looking pathetic, brushing his dusty skinny jeans off as he did so.

"No, I meant for your...uh...Sister? I was worried that she would be easy picken' if any bears showed up... But I guess..uh.. You sort of answered that for me..." She seemed to lighten her expression at that, but her hands didn't uncross her arms from under her breast.

"You're not around here are you?" She questioned, but her tone was lighter then it was before, and eased him ever so slightly. He shook his head no, and she sighed, looking down momentarily, a scowl reaching her face.

"I hate tourists..." She mumbled under her breath, and for a moment Peter felt guilty for being there, it only lasted a moment. Instead it turned into the dire need to tell her that he wasn't a tourist, and his lack of knowledge didn't come from a lack of trying, he had actually been rather curious of Canada as a kid.

"I'm not a tourist! I'm from New York, the city, I don't even know how I got here!" He put his hands on his head unconsciously, and spread them wide. She looked shocked for a moment, and the little girl cocked her head to the side, studying him.

"Sir N! Where the Fuck-" A distinctly male voice filled the trees around them.

"Over here dumb ass!" The girl he was speaking to answered, her face red, and really she sounded angry, but her face lit up in a smile, teasing and genuine. Boyfriend? Peter questioned to himself absentmindedly. The sound footsteps finding perch on the dirt and wood covered ground was quiet, nonetheless Peter heard it, and was slightly shocked himself to see a teenager who looked older than himself emerge from the hill, his voice sounded far older than that of a teenager to his ears. He was wearing a plaid T-shirt that looked to be something you'd just carelessly throw on in the morning, a black T-shirt underneath that with what looked to be a splatted on white skull on the front. He had on a pair of lengthening blue denim jeans. Long bright -almost platinum- blond hair cascading down his shoulders and down just below his pecs, a bright red neatly folded red bandana the only thing keeping the long bangs out of his face. He wore a annoyed frown on his lips, and his brown -almost black- eyebrows were drawn together.

"Aw... Why do you have to be so mean sis?..." Really Peter was actually rather surprised at the whine in his voice, it made him sound far younger than he obviously was. The other girl let out a loose, and quick burst of laughter. But the young brunette seemed delighted by the others presence, and smiled widely, looking over to Peter, who stared at the small child with something like curiosity. She smiled wider at him.

"This is my sister Serenity!" She pulled at the cargo pant, and Serenity laughed at it. The little girl pointed her small chubby finger at the man behind them, who was looking at him with a plain expression, as if he was judging his character. Which he probably was. "And that's my brother Dean!" Peter gave the man a small nod, to which he returned with a small nod to himself, and looking away from him to Serenity who blinked at him and gave him, what Peter could only describe as an ordering glare. That surprised him, as the other seemed to be the type not to take orders from another person. But still the other turned towards Peter and smirked, the other boy assumed that the order was to give him a smile, or be nice, or something along those lines, but he wasn't sure if this was nice for the blond. He took what he got though. And smiled back hesitantly. Dean let out a snort of laughter. And turned away from him, looking off to seemingly nowhere.

"Do you need to use a phone? You know, to call the states or something?" Peter turned his eyes back to Serenity, and smiled as nicely as he could given the current circumstances.

"Um, yeah. Thanks." She nodded. And held out her iPhone out to him, Peter almost snorted, far to used to seeing his own Starkphone, so it looked rather accent to him. But he restrained himself and reached out to grab it. It wa drawn away, and Serenity looked down at him, even though he was taller, she raised her chin and glared.

"Name first." He nodded and almost gulped.

"Peter." She nodded, and gave him the phone. Peter looked down at the call screen and prayed that his Dad hadn't changed his phone number. And dialed.

"This is JARVIS. If this is-" He cut off the AI, relief washing over him in waves.

"J, it's Peter, look I really, really, need to talk to Dad, please tell me he's not in his lab." He asked hopefully, because really nothing could get his Dad out of his lab once he was in.

"Master Peter, of course. But sir, might I incire where you are, and where you have been?" Peter felt dread once again filling him, and he imagined his face was quite unusually pale.

"J, how-how long have I been gone?...."

"Eleven months, two weeks, three days, twenty seven-"

"Oh my god..." He sat down on the steep hillside beside him, his knees knocking together, his hands shaking.

"Sir?" The AI didn't wait long, seemingly, knowing he wasn't answering because of shock. "I shall fetch Mr. Stark sir." The line was quiet. And Peter was left with his thoughts. He was in Canada, fuck if he knew where, eleven mouths of his memory missing, cold, hungry, and terrified. He really wanted his parents at this point. Vaguely he registered he had missed his birthday and was now sixteen. But that wasn't at the forefront of his mind.

"Hello." His Dad sounded drunk, and Peter had no trouble remembering just what that looked like. But eleven months... "Look I picked up, only because JARVIS said it was important, but if your-" Peter felt panic rising in his chest, throat and abdomen.

"No! Dad.." A sharp intake of breath on the other line, was quickly followed by an angry snort.

"That's not funny-" Peter cut him off again. And eleven months ago that would have gotten him a smack upside the head.

"No Dad, it's really me, please, just please..." There was a pause and then:

"Prove it." The -now- sixteen year old sagged in relief. "Who was Peter's childhood best friend?" Peter smiled. That was easy.

"Harry Osborn." Because there was a company war going on back then, no one but him, and his immediate family had known that, they hadn't bothered telling anyone else even after it ended, him and Harry had remained friends still.

Peter hear another sharp intake from the other end. But this time it wasn't angry, it was shaky and what Peter imagined his father's relief.

"Oh god! Peter! Where the hell have you been?- No, fuck! Where are you now?!" The older Stark was yelling right now, and Peter flinched, he knew it was only from worry, but it still made him uneasy.

"I'm not quite sure exactly where... But somewhere in Canada..." He trailed off.

"Canada! What the fuck are you doing in Canada?! Ugh, no, fucking whatever, where's the nearest airport? I'll send a jet to you."

"Hold on." He put his hand over the speaker, and looked up to the three, coughing slightly so that one of them looked over to him, it was Serenity. "Um...Where's the nearest airport?"

"Calgary, it's about an hour and a half drive from here." He nodded and smiled his thanks, she smiled back and went back to talking to her brother. He uncovered the speaker again.

"Um... Calgary." He could almost hear his Dad texting on his Stark phone over the line.

"Done. Now Peter, down to business, what?-"

"I don't know Dad, I honestly don't. I'm just, god! I'm just so confused, and hungry, and, ugh, cold..." A female voice shouted behind him. Grudge in her tone.

"It's plus twenty-five, with humidity!" He ignored the girl, and resisted the urge to cry, eleven months of his life, and he couldn't remember any of it.

"Hey, Pete, It's-it's okay, I'll fix this, I promise, okay? I promise..." It sounded as if his father was talking to himself. And Peter couldn't blame him, the guy relied on his ability to fix any problem, and a missing son, well that was a failure. Then came the thought, that knowing his father, he would have put SHIELD on alert, meaning they could find him through all the security footage on the planet, and ever cell phone, and all the satellites. The very fact that his Dad hadn't known he was alive and well worried him, because that meant he had kept low, really low, and god! What the hell had he been doing for eleven months?! Panic set in once more, and really it took less than two seconds before he realized that he was hyperventilating. He heard his father trying to calm him down on the other side of the line but it was the hand on his shoulder that snapped him back to reality. It was Serenity.

"Breath, just breath, in and out, in and out..." She smiled at him, as his breathing became regulated, the presence and voice was calming. The phone was taken from him by the little girl, she had a concern in her blue eyes that startled him. But she smiled. As his breathing finally calmed he smiled back. Serenity, whose hand was still on his shoulder gave the muscle there a gentle squeeze and stood up.

"How did you-..."

"I used to have to do it for Dean here when he had his panic attacks, still do, on occasion anyway." Peter openly stared, the guy didn't look like the type to get panic attacks, then again, sometimes he was bad at judging character. Dean's dark green eyes flickered towards the phone in his sister's hand, and Peter almost jumped as the fact that he had forgotten his Dad had been on the other end of that line.

"Well your Dad hung up. Sorry man." Peter sighed, Dean was unfortunately right, the screen was back to the call information, and he didn't have it in him to waste the others minutes again.

"Thanks for letting me use your phone." She waved him off, and got her phone back from the brunette girl next to her, whom of which Peter still didn't know the name of. He didn't bother to ask, really that would seem weird. He stood up, and briefly wiped his ass off from the wood chips there. "Hey, uh, know any taxi's that can take me to um... Calgary?" Serenity seemed amused by his inquiry, and Dean's nose twitched as a smile smile came onto his face.

"Uh, no. No, taxi's, at least none that don't cost a small fortune anyway." He sighed, he bet he could probably pay it if he had his Dad's credit card, or his extra cash, but that would be in American curency, and his wallets comfortable bulge was missing from his coat pocket. He only had that ten he found on the trail, and from what the blonde was saying, that wasn't going to cover it.

"I'll drive you. The airport right?" At that Peter's eyes snapped up, Dean who up until now seemed very untrustful of him, was willing to drive him to the airport, what did Serenity say and hour and a half away? Suddenly gratitude didn't quite cover it.

"Uh, really? I mean, not that I'm not grateful or anything but we only just met like twenty minutes ago." The Canadian shrugged and smirked soon after.

"Yeah well, I wouldn't be living up to the stereotype if I didn't now would I? Besides, you seem like you're in a bit of a panic anyway." Peter laughed, yeah that was true. "So we going or what Pot Spice?" Dean was already walking down the hill, hands in his pockets. Serenity laughed at him, and Peter was to flustered to do anything but wave and smile as he left with the tall blond, if she took any offence to it it wasn't shown. "Car's down here. Hope you don't mind uncomfortable seats from 1969." Peter cringed, yeah he did, but he was getting a free ride and that was good enough for him. Can't afford to be too fussy his Pop's always said. His Dad alway countered to with a leer about his money, and how yes he could. He always got an eyeroll from the super solider when he did.

Canada, Calgary, AB -1 hour later-

They drove around, and really to Peter it seemed like a fairly small city compared to New York. But it was nice, the skyscrapers weren't as high, and the people seemed slightly nicer. Peter really hadn't thought much of Canadian stereotypes as a kid, but really the whole "All Canadians are nice" thing? Yeah that seemed to ring pretty close to true. Every street they drove down , there were people giving change to the homeless, jokes being shared after an accidental bump to the shoulder, it was...pleasant.

"So what's the deal with you huh?" Snapped out of his thoughts Peter turned towards the driver. Whose hands were whiter than his natural skin tone upon the wheel, which was frightening in a way because the guy was pale as a ghost already. Obviously Dean still didn't trust him very much. Peter wasn't really surprised. In a way he reminded the brunette of his Aunt Natasha.

"I'm not really sure. I just woke up in those woods, no memory of how I got there, or why. And when I called my- my Dad, he said I've been gone for eleven months. I uh- well I freaked, as you probably saw." Dean looked over to him for a moment, not paying attention to the road, it made him feel uncomfortable. The blond soon turned away though, his green eyes back on the road, and a contemplative look on his face. After a couple seconds ago, he sighed as he turned on the blinker and turned right, his eyes sweeping closed for a moment. Peter couldn't keep his own question at bay anymore, besides the lack of response was freaking him out considerably.

"What did you sister mean? You know when she said; she had to help you through your panic attacks?" It took him all but a second to realize how personal a question that was, and his mouth closed with a snap as soon as he did. Yet he didn't keep it closed for long, aiming to apologize, but Dean interjected.

"It's fine, don't apologize. I uh. Well I wasn't the most secure teenager, or kid even. Uh, I had problems, you know anxiety, depression, you know stuff like that. It didn't bother me very much till I got to my teen years ya know? But some shit happened, and I sorta just lost control of my emotions. Frankly, it blew up in my face." Peter sat and listened, because it seemed important, and it was strange, just strange hearing about someone else's past, no one really told him before about theirs, not even Harry. Or his parents, in fact his parents were pretty tight lipped about it. It made him very uneasy sometimes.

"And the shit that happened?" He questioned, only because his curiosity was getting the best of him and he really couldn't stand not knowing something. He was like his father like that. Dean smiled a bitter half-smile at his inquiry.

"I was born wrong." Peter tilted his head in questioning, and though he knew the other wouldn't be able to see it completely, he would see the movement nonetheless. "As a girl, I was born as a girl." Peter nodded, but really, he was a little shocked, he had read about transgenders, supported their rights even, but it was simply surprising to hear, to talk to someone who had gone through that process. "You got something to say, might as well say it now." The tone was harsh, bitten out, and slightly fragile, as if the blond had experienced something horrible after saying that line once. That wasn't a surprising thought of course, transgenders coming out of the closet usually end up on the street. That was the thought that had Peter fumbling in his own head looking for words.

"Cool." He flinched as the words left his mouth. Really it was the only thing he could have said that didn't make him sound like a complete dick, so he had grasped at straws, that, was what came out from Peter grasping at straws. He looked towards the driver, who side glanced at him, a confused frown on his face.

"Huh." And that was all he said before looking straight ahead at the traffic they were currently stuck in.

They drove for several more minutes, or well, they tried too, but the traffic was tight, Peter didn't complain, the traffic was far worse in New York anyway, hell in America period. Dean though, he didn't seem as calm, his jaw was clenched, and his fingers were rapidly tapping on the wheel. The brunette was sure at this point that the other was unfamiliar to traffic jams, that didn't shock him though, the town they had been in looked rather small. Well in all honesty, it could have been a fairly large town and Peter wouldn't have known the difference, he was far too used to the city.

"So, how you plan on paying for this flight? Cuz, if your plan is to leech off me, that ain't happenin'" The blonde raised his arms in a sort of mock surrender, and a sly look on his face as he looked over to him. Peter laughed.

"Nah, my Dad set something up for me." The other scoffed, but it seemed playful.

"What you some rich guy's kid or something?" Peter shook his head, and glared ever so slightly.

"I'm not a kid, I'm... like your age." The other just laughed at his barely there defence, and Peter scowled, but snickered ever so slightly mentally.

"I'll take that as a yes." Peter rolled his eyes, and it was weird, it felt like it had been years since he had last relaxed. He smiled slightly at the feeling, it was warm and familiar. "So, as you seem keen not to answer that question, even though I know the answers yes, I'll ask you something else. Let's see...Something simple." He pierced his lips, and Peter couldn't help but laugh at the put upon act.

"Well since Sir N already told me that you're from New York, I'll ask this: What's you favorite thing out the city?" Peter stopped a moment, thinking, that was a difficult question.

"I like how it balances itself out." Dean tilted his head at him, like a puppy, or small child would. Strangely Peter really couldn't imagine his driver as a puppy, at all. "It's like, for every bad guy there's someone else trying to do what they can too make it a better place. And yeah sometimes it really doesn't seem that way, but it just is." Really it was a hard thing to try and explain, but Dean nodded his head none the less. Satisfied with the answer it seemed. Peter didn't ask the other a question, because he felt as if the moment for that was no more. Instead they simply started driving again with quiet smiles on both their faces.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short Chapter I'm afraid.

Canada, Over Toronto, ON -Present-

 

It started suddenly, and he really didn’t understand it. A nagging sort of pulling at his gut arose, as did a small sort of pull at his mind. His hands twitched, but he ignored them, shock is what he was going to put it down to now. His pops had always said that shock did strange things to a man. In the army a man had been shot, his partner -literal in all terms that count- had been so stricken by the event that he had gasped and orgasemed. Luckily enough the man hadn’t died that day, but had laughed at his partner once the wound had healed up. Weirdly, as timid as his pops could get with any mention of sex around him he hadn’t faltered in telling him that story. Weirder still if you considered the fact that his pops really didn’t like to talk about his past, very obviously understandable, but it had taken him off guard even back then as the blond haired man had been having a particularly bad day. Peter found himself sitting up at that thought, concentrating only on that as to distract his mind from the fact that he was still twitching. 

 

“Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posey. A tissue, a tissue, we all fall down… Ring around the rosey, pocket full of posey, a tissue, a tissue, we all fall down… Ring around the rosey-”

The intercom is playing the tune, soft and gentle, and of course in a child's voice, as that is who sing it. Adults are always rather touchy if it's sung out loud though. Peter as most children, didn’t know why until he was quite older. It disgusts him, and he wonders why the intercom would play such a foul tune. Instead of pondering on it though, he turns to the side and switches the noise off.

 

He knows he’s only around an hour away from home, and his throat clenches, he has nothing to tell them, no explanation to give. He doesn’t know what to say. And that is a first for him. He’s Tony Stark's son for all things holy, that in itself pretty much guarantees he’s a smooth talker. It’s almost like basic, necessary programming within the motherboard of a computer. The plane rumbles and for a moment his thoughts are put aside, the movement making his senses tingle with weariness. Turbulence have always disturbed him, of course his Dad had chocked it up to Aviatophobia, but Peter didn’t think that was sure about that when his father had said it. Regardless of how it may seem, he didn’t, and still doesn’t have a fear of flying. Just the turbulence that come with it. Although the reason is still unclear even to him. The most pressing thing on his mind currently is the simple task to actually get to his fathers, see them again. Let his Pops hug him for however long the super soldier liked, and however right a hold that involves, he wants that, and that’s probably a first. He wants to be nagged at, and hit over the head lightly with a ruler for being too much like his Dad and geek-speaking. He wants that, the normality of that, simple and warm, normality.

 

His palms sweat, at the thought, because he doesn’t know if his other family members will even want to see him, god! It probably looks to them as if he’d just run off. Never! He’d never run from his family like that, regardless of what they did. He would just have to hope that they knew that. The cooling, turning feeling returns to his abdomen, and he is hard pressed to ignore it. Nearby the intercom turns on once more, soft music playing through hp it's speakers. Almost as a calming attempt. Peter doesn’t relax.

-:-

The first thing that met his vision was a hazy fog. It wasn’t really that, and Peter knew it, but the blur of colour was hardly welcomed, so he elected to call it a fog within his own mind. JAVIS was speaking through the intercom, and for a moment Peter wished for the peaceful music he had fallen asleep to, even though he hadn’t known what the music was. It had been far to soft to distinguish properly, but it had been relaxing at least. JARVIS on the other hand, he was more of the annoying pest at the moment, his British voice irritatingly commanding, even though the words he spoke were hardly to be considered commanding, or even his tone. Peter could himself irritated by the fact that he was simply talking. Which was strange in and out of itself, considering just need hours ago he had been feeling homesick, and JARVIS for Peter at least, is a pretty clear indication of home.

 

“Master Peter, sir, are you alright?” Brilliantly, his thoughts wondering only gave him slight room for speech, so the only sound that came out of his mouth was a quiet ‘Hmm?’ He rose from the couch and stretched after that, his muscles feeling sore, yet unused. It took him a proper minute to understand the AI'S question.

 

“Sorry, yes JARVIS I’m fine. Have we arrived?” As he asked his hand fluttered over the outside of his right thigh. A subconscious gesture that not even he understands. His face kitted by confusion, as he simply stared at his right leg. No questions running through his mind this time however. More of, he understood that something was wrong, something was missing, his mind supplied him little information though, only a vague sense of recognition that made him stare. It was only when turbulent threatened to knock him on his ass did he register that it was actually met landing on the jet pad at the tower. He had almost forgotten he had been riding in an upgraded version of the Avenge jet. Or maybe not, it had been eleven months after all, and his Dad could build quite a bit in eleven months.

 

He staggered, and grabbing his stuff from beside the couch was a challenge, his hands trembling for no reason discernable. He didn’t have much, his bag was actually stolen, it held one pair of clothes, just in case, some food, and a bottle of water, already empty. He left the jet as the doors opened by themselves, and a chilly air caught him off guard. His family members were nowhere to be seen, so he simply made his way into the tower. Warmth spread over him in waves as he did so. Not only from the temperature. There were sounds of mugs being put away in the kitchen, and though everyone in the tower was very capable of putting mugs away, Peter knew it was his Pops doing so. The man couldn’t stand disorganization, slightly OCD to be honest. There was a soft tune as well, masculine and gentle, almost caressing his ear with the soft melody. His Pops humming or singing was not a sound for all to hear, as far as Peter was aware only his Dad and him, and perhaps that Peggy Carter woman, had heard it. Peter followed that sound, and not the clattering of mugs. He turned the corner and promptly lost his voice, and his drive. Because there his Pops was, in a skin tight blue ‘T' and grey sweatpants. Now Peter had never thought his Pops gorgeous before, as that can be referred to as just plain creepy, but right now, this moment, he was. He almost laughed at the thought.

 

“Pops.” The soldier froze, his posture completely stiff, and his jaw tensed. Nonetheless, he did turn. When he saw his son, his actual son there, everything seemed so much brighter. His hair was longer, a lighter brown, and he had this emotion in his eyes that was far from good. Steve, neglected those lingering thoughts and hugged his son, a gripping hug that bordered on crushing. Neither of them spoke up on it though. Peter himself just wrapped his arms around the broad back around his Pops and leaned his head on the shoulder there. Relief wasn’t a suitable word. Warmth seeped through both of them, it was a tight embrace. 

 

“Peter, where on Earth have you been? Do you know how worried I was?” The voice of his father resonated within his head, annoyingly he found the urge to cry there too. He pushed that impulse down, he found it surprisingly easy. Yet he didn’t answer, mostly because he himself didn’t know, not exactly. They both pulled back from the embrace, Steve kept his arms firmly on his son’s shoulders however. “Your glasses.” The super solider had a concerned frown on his face, but Peter understood why, he couldn’t see a thing without his glasses, and now he suddenly could, what? Unwillingly he stepped back, away, and out of his father's grip as he stared down at his hands, and marveled that they didn’t blur around the edges. In fact, he could see better than he had ever been able to see before, he could see the tiny lines in his hands and the crisp line of his father’s jaw, even the cracks his his lips, and the beginnings of crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, the lines within the blue irises, and the twitch of a golden brow as his father’s worry increased. It was amazing. To be completely honest with himself, which he rarely was, he felt amazing in general, whatever he had been doing in Canada must have been good because he felt great. Apart from the emo apparel, he even looked great. Especially the long bang hanging in front of one eye felt strangely satisfying. Still there was a sort of confusion deep in his mind, fear latched onto it rather firmly. Because that wasn’t possible  not like that anyway, not without scientific interference. That, now that was a scary thought. He’d promised himself since he was eight that he would never  enhance  himself. Never. He could see now, perfectly, and that meant some sort of scientific enhancement had occurred. God, what had he  done  in Canada? He wanted to cry, because fuck all, he was confused, not to mention scared. How had his Pop’s even dealt with walking up  seventy  years  in the  future?  He could barely stand waking up eleven  months  in his own century. Was he being cowardly? Okay, maybe now he was crying, maybe. Maybe because his Pop’s was stroking his hair, like when he was little. Maybe. 

  
It all blacked out, everything overwhelmed his senses, his ears filled with ringing, and he could feel his own pulse through his eye sockets. He could no longer see, for the sensory beat of his own heart behind his own eyes compelled them closed. It wasn’t painful, not in the traditional sense of the word, but it was alarming, at any rate, and Peter swore he could feel his pulse quicken behind his closed eyes. To a point of which, it was believable his father could see it, in the little flutters of his eyelids. He remained stock still, a mere statue to the very busy man in front of him. He felt so still in fact, it brought on a strange sensation of deja vu, of course he could not attest as to why, as he was fairly sure he had never been so rigid. Nonetheless the feeling remained, and the rolling in his abdomen increased, great tidal waves crashing in there now. He knew he had never stood this still, yet his muscles beckoned memories, that were otherwise unwelcome, blurred, and white, nothing for him to hold onto, and Peter could not decide whether he was relieved by the vagueness of the memories, or scared of them, as he did not understand their meaning. 


End file.
